


For John's Sake

by blueboxcumberbatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueboxcumberbatch/pseuds/blueboxcumberbatch





	For John's Sake

“How long?” John’s voice is shaky and his hands are trembling.

“Only a few months, Dr. Watson. I’d say five or six at most. I’m so sorry.” The doctor sitting across from John and Sherlock could barely meet their eyes, Sherlock could tell he was still new at telling people that they were dying. Somebody so inexperienced shouldn’t have been the one to take care of John…

John slowly nodded and closed his eyes, clasping his hands together in his lap and letting his emotions well up inside of him. Sherlock was seated next to him, seemingly not at all affected by the news that John’s cancer was too far advanced to try to stop it; he was dying as they spoke.

“What should I do, then? Bring my things here and set up shop in a hospital bed for the rest of my life?” John tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but Sherlock only responded with a scowl.

“For as long as you can manage, you don’t have to be here. You can live your life normally and not have to worry about being admitted to a hospital. When things get too hard, though… You’ll have to come back, and we’ll make things as easy as possible for you.” The other doctor was very uncomfortable under the skeptical eyes of Sherlock, so his response was quiet and weak.

Sherlock quickly stood up and snorted, “Easy? You’re talking to a dying man. There is nothing easy about his situation. Come, John. We have crime scenes to attend to.”

***

Four months passed, and John was a shadow of the man he used to be. Thin, ghostly pale, and very weak, he admitted himself to the hospital, with Sherlock by his side the entire time. All of John’s favorite things were brought into a room for him, breaking hospital rules, although Sherlock didn’t seem to care. John had a hunch that Mycroft had something to do with their ability to constantly defy the nurses and other doctors’ requests and demands.

John was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when would be his last day when Lestrade knocked on the door. Sherlock looked up from staring at John, taking in his every detail, which John pretended not to notice, and turned to face Lestrade.

“What are you doing here? You know I have a phone.” Sherlock was doing his best not to snap at Lestrade, for John’s sake.

“Sherlock, it’s fine. Greg, come in. How are you?” John’s voice was barely audible, causing Lestrade to wince and shake his head.

“Never mind how I am, you sound horrible.” Sherlock shot a look at Greg, but he ignored it, only showing concern for John in his fragile state of affairs. Sherlock sat back down in John’s armchair, which he had brought into John’s room from their flat on Baker Street despite all the trouble it caused everyone around him.

John’s eyes lit up a little to see that Lestrade wasn’t like the rest of his visitors, assuming they’d never see him again and treating him like he was already dead. At least he could make a sad attempt at a bad joke.

Lestrade turned to Sherlock, who was childishly sitting with his arms crossed over his chest in John’s chair. “What I came here to say was that you don’t answer your phone, Sherlock, and we desperately need you at a crime scene. Triple homicide, no way of escape from a room locked from the inside, no weapon left at the scene. It’s right up your alley, and we need you there.”

Sherlock’s eyes gleamed a little bit brighter, but they dulled down again when he shook his head and closed his eyes, reaching out a hand to put on John’s hospital bed. “No. I can’t leave John. I haven’t yet, and I don’t plan to.”

John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and held it for a moment, feeling the warmth of Sherlock’s palm against the cool, clammy surface of John’s own hand. He breathed, “Sherlock, go. I’ll be fine.”

Sherlock held John’s gaze, trying to remember every single detail of this man, making sure that he’d never forget him when he was gone. If something happened while he was away… No, John wanted him to go out and get some fresh air. Sherlock didn’t need it, but if it would make John happy, then he’d do it.

“Fine. I’ll call a cab, I’m not riding with you. I’ll be there shortly.” Greg nodded and left, giving John one last smile and a wave. Sherlock still hadn’t looked away from John, but he quickly got up to leave and muttered, “I won’t be long. I’m only going because I know you want me to, for some sort of emotional stability reason, which I _don’t need.”_

John ignored most of what Sherlock said and just smiled while sighing a quiet, “Thank you.” Sherlock left, went to the scene of the crime, and captured the murderer before sunset. He was back in John’s room just as visitor hours were ending.

“You know,” John started, “they may try to kill me faster if you keep being such a nuisance.” Sherlock had just picked up his violin to soothe John to sleep, as he did every night since he came to the hospital, but he set it back down and plopped himself onto John’s bed, staring deep into John’s gentle eyes.

“Don’t make jokes like that. They are _not_ funny.” Sherlock tried his best to hide his fear of losing John so soon, but he was getting worse at it, and John could tell.

“Sherlock...” John closed his eyes and thought for a moment before continuing, “I think I’m ready to go.”

Sherlock’s heart stopped as he processed John’s words. A nervous laugh accompanied his quiet response, “What? No, John, you can’t be serious.” John winced, and Sherlock hadn’t even noticed that he’d been holding John’s hand again, letting alone squeezing the living daylights out of it for fear of John dying right then. Sherlock let go of John’s hand, but John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and entwined their fingers together, gently tucking Sherlock’s hand into the crook of his neck, as if he was holding a dear stuffed animal. He was barely smiling, but Sherlock still noticed and didn’t know how to react.

The sun was low over the horizon, making everything in John’s room gleam in beautiful shades of yellow and gold. John was lost, staring into Sherlock’s twinkling eyes, happy that he chose to spend all of his time in this little room when he could be out doing so many more interesting things than comforting a dying man.

“Stop it.” Sherlock whispered. “You’re doubting yourself, I can tell. I’d give all of my time to you if you’d live, if you’d beat this.”

John sighed. “Sherlock, you and I both know that I can’t do that. If there was a way for me to get up out of this bed and run around London helping you solve crimes and catch murderers, then you know I would. But I can’t. And it’s getting to the point where I want to quit trying. Please, Sherlock, could you take all these tubes and wires away from me? Leave my IV, though, Lord knows I need the painkillers.”

Sherlock didn’t want to deny John the opportunity to be comfortable in what seemed to be his last hours, so he worked quickly and quietly, leaving only John’s IV and the pulse monitor by his bed. Sherlock shoved everything else into the far corner of the room so that John didn’t have to look at it if he didn’t want to.

“Thank you. Could you close the door, too, please?” Sherlock pushed the door shut so that it seemed the only thing left in the world was him and John. John seemed to relax as he sighed, muttering a soft, “Thank you,” once again.

Sherlock could feel the fear growing inside of himself. He had refused to think of what would happen when John as gone, but now it was coming faster, and Sherlock was beginning to panic. What was he supposed to do without John? John was the one who kept Sherlock from losing it, John was the constant in Sherlock’s chaos, John was the reason Sherlock thought there was hope in the world for humanity. And now he was losing him. John was drifting away from Sherlock right before his eyes.

“Sherlock, come here.” John had managed to scoot over enough to make room for Sherlock in the tiny hospital bed. Sherlock climbed in next to John and instinctively wrapped his arms around him, holding close the one thing he held most dear. John could hear Sherlock’s heart pounding in his chest, showing John just how scared Sherlock really was. Sherlock was trying to focus on the sound of John’s pulse monitor, the quiet beep filling in the deep silence that surrounded the two men in that little bed.

“Sherlock. Please don’t be afraid.” John was already looking up at Sherlock when Sherlock met his eyes once again, trying his best not to break down. For John’s sake.

“How?” Sherlock’s voice betrayed him when a simple question turned into something like a child’s cry for help.

John scooted closer to Sherlock, enveloping himself in Sherlock’s warmth and security. “I don’t know. I’m afraid, too.” They fell to silence once again before John tried one last time to say what was on his mind.

“I wish I had more time. I wish _we_ had more time. I wish I could have said something long before now, but I just didn’t know what to say or what you’d say in return. Sherlock, I always assumed I’d spend the rest of my life with you, but never like this. I thought I’d have all the time in the world to show you how much you mean to me and how much I care. I didn’t think I’d have to be laying on my deathbed in your arms to finally get the courage to tell you I love you.”

Sherlock looked down at John again. “John, I-”

“I know, Sherlock. You’ve never been the best with words. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

“Actually… I was going to say I love you, too.”

Sherlock could hear the quickening of John’s pulse on the heart monitor, and he knew it was now or never. What little space there was between them was gone, and the two men kissed like it was the last thing they’d ever do.

At least, it was the last thing John would ever do.

When Sherlock pulled away, John’s eyes were still shut and he was smiling as if he wasn’t sick at all. The sun was still barely shining, making John’s face look like all the color had returned, and he had an angelic aura about him.

“Could you play a few songs for me before I sleep?” John asked, pointing to Sherlock’s violin, still resting on the armchair from when Sherlock had hastily set it down earlier.

“Of course,” Sherlock replied, trying not to whine because it meant he’d have to get up and leave John alone in that bed again. He swiped the violin off the chair and played all of John’s favorites to the beat of the heart monitor. As the sun settled below the horizon and the golden glow of the room faded, Sherlock noticed that the beat of John’s heart had slowed significantly, and he knew that there wasn’t much time left. He walked all around John’s room, playing and playing until on a final note, the vibrato of Sherlock’s violin met the sound of a steady, constant beep from the heart monitor. John’s heart had stopped, and Sherlock’s song was done.

He set the violin back down on the chair and sat on the edge of John’s bed. Sherlock looked at John for the last time, knowing that he’d never forget John. His laugh, his smile, his everything; Sherlock could never forget anything about John. He got up and silently walked out of the room, spilling tears onto the floor and leaving the violin on the armchair, a gift for the man who made life worth living, although he lived his own life no more.


End file.
